


Tequila

by Punk_mit_Keks



Category: South Park
Genre: Flirting, M/M, Mentions of Thomas (Le Petit Tourette), alcohol use, mentions of post Craig/Thomas, seemingly one-sided creek, socially awkward Tweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 07:45:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6043740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Punk_mit_Keks/pseuds/Punk_mit_Keks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr otp au prompt: “I just left my bf and you are the bartender serving my drink listening to my drunkenness ”</p><p>So I was bored and started this and then it grew longer and unf, I’m so sorry this is way too long for having practically no plot and it’s so rushed in the ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tequila

„Here you go,“ I said as I put the glass at the reflective tabletop. It was black and if I wasn’t to wipe it down after each drink I served the imprints would remain visible and make the whole place look inhospitable. The lights weren’t that bright but colorful, trying to enliven the rooms’ dark corners not quite matching the music playing in the background. It was a mixture of luring people to get intoxicated while pretending they have the best time of their live and creating some comfy homely places at some booth corners with soft but slippery couches.

The guy in front of me groaned. His head was buried at his crossed arms atop the counter. Some of his black bangs peeped out of his blue chullo he wore even though it was way too warm at this place for a hat. However, when hearing the clink of his drink he lifted his head giving it a resented look as if it was responsible for his misery. The place between his brows was pleated and his eyes red and swollen with circles just as red underneath them. The lights didn’t quite give it away, but I recognized it since the bags under my eyes always looked the same except mine were darker in blue than red. His face seemed just so worn out like a damp towel that got clenched out and hang at the heater to keep all the pleats once it’s dried. Observing his order his lips tensed and his under lip about to sulk like a little kid in the front line of a grocery store not getting that lollypop the shop offered him.

Of course the beverage wasn’t at fault for him feeling so weak he was about to pour all over the counter. Obviously he knew about it but kept scrutinizing the brown liquid that was engulfing three rocks of ice.

His head supported by his arms he finally muttered “thanks” and without thinking about it I smiled at him. Just my work smile I gave all my customers in which my mouth corners would twitch up only shortly revealing a sympathetic sight without reaching my eyes or being anything more than politeness. That automatized one every bartender adapted over time. He didn’t even notice with his eyes attached at the ice cube as if he would change his condition of aggregation any moment as well.

Then I had to turn over to another customer and mix up two Mai Tais leaving him alone with his drink and all the things he tried to erase with it. In my habitual way I cash up the customer and mix the next orders. My body moved as if every motion was imprinted into my bones and muscles. My brain didn’t need to think any further since my body was accustomed to my workplace and the chores. Cautiously I poured in the Grenadine and voila the Tequila Sunrise was completed.

My customers went through the open door at this room’s corner into the big area the music came from and the dance floor was placed. I didn’t like to work in that room. I always had to ask twice to get the order correctly and the sudden changes in music made me twitchy and I had to wipe down the counter double as often. No, working at the foyer was better. At this place I saw all the people passing through. Those who wanted to go dance, those who sat at the tables and talked, the people that came in and those who were already leaving. The music wasn’t that loud here making it possible to talk in a normal volume and the crowd around the counter was never as hasty as those who hadn’t the patience to leave the dance floor to get their beverages.

I also witnessed a lot more stories at this place. Like the people who stayed way too long at the restrooms, to come back leaned against a friend with a painful visage of disgust of what they just had let out of their body, or contrariwise the desperate attempt to maintain a discrete face, while every time they looked at each other a grin cracks out. Those who placed their arguments leaned against the wall into this room since the other was too loud, nonetheless yelling at each other loud enough for the whole local to hear. And customers like that noirette.

Once all orders were compiled I drew my attention back at him. He swallowed half his whiskey and then grimaced when the burn ran down his throat. It was the second he had ordered this night and I didn’t know before he would drink that stuff pure. He sighed again and I felt like in one of those sappy soaps a good barkeeper would ask what happened and listen to the wasted crying about their fucked up life. Well, those movies tended to ignore the barkeepers life was just as fucked up.

However I didn’t need to ask him because he already told me. Three month back when his misery started and he came in alone for the first time, he already told me. And two month back when he for real started crying of the prospect to be visiting this place alone from now on. Last week when he came with some friends of him I haven’t seen before. And so many other days in-between he had already told me. Well he didn’t really _tell_ me but then again in his own ways he did. His gestures, his manners, his face, his groans and sighs and all of that was enough for me to put one and one together. And sometimes he did say one or two things about the issue, no details though, but oh boy, it was enough to understand.

And even through I’d have to disinfect the counter once he’s finished drowning his sorrow with alcohol I’d serve him as much as he wanted. It might was my job to do so and it might was my job to listen to him, yet I didn’t think I did it with any other than a personal motivation. And even through I’ve listened to his stories repeatedly I was all ears whenever he comes to sit. Even when all his words were filled with silence.

He sighed deep and I just looked at him in both pity and admiration. Out of habit and because he was my only customer right now sitting at the bar and honestly he was the only interesting thing in eyesight.

"God dammit," he spit out and I could feel his frustration as well as his dullness. I wiped down the counter once again and when I finished I let my hands at their place leaning against the counter just a bit, the towel still in my hand. My gaze lingered at him and god I wished he wouldn’t wear that chullo I could pet through his hair. I wouldn’t do though, but I could, and that alone, the little possibility was so tightening I had to look away.

I wasn’t good at comforting people and so I found myself with my head blunt like it always was when I was the one in charge. Give me something physical to do, show me how the task was done and I would learn in a wink of an eye and gladly copy and get used to it till the task was as normal as breathing to me. But social tasks, like talking to people about more than what they want to drink and that game of ‘oh, I’m fine, thanks for asking’, how do you do that? It’s something I quite never understood.

And while he seemed to try to find a start to cry out without feeling to embarrass himself once again and to let out without repeating all the stuff I already knew I was even as blank and tried to figure out what to say to soothe him. There was not much though. My own breakup had been pretty long ago. And honestly I wasn’t doing fine then. I kind of found out I lack a lot of communication skills, and when my ex was finished with telling me all his reasoning I was just as blank, voiceless, taken by surprise and god damn it felt pretty unfair. He was able to tell all of those things, to tell me his feelings and struggles and all that shit, but I wasn’t able to get my fucking mouth open. He left. And I had no idea how to help myself and how to handle it. I’ve been a total wreck back then and that was the only time I’ve been in a relationship so far. I felt just as miserably as my customer did now. So, yeah, there was not really any advice I could give him. Only maybe to talk about it, with him, with friends, with strangers. That he already did and I shut my mouth. Just telling things would get better was but just a saying as unhelpful as unneeded.

"You know..." he started, "his parents even called me. Everyone things I’m the bad guy. It’s so fucking unfair.”

He took another gulp of his whiskey and then made a face. He was not used to whiskey. Previously when he still came with his ex he would drink Caipirinhas or Long Island Iced Teas. Long Island Iced Teas were fun to make, they had so many ingredients and all the different alcohols mixed up were a sure trip to become wasted. It was one of the only Cocktails I would say I appreciate. Well actually I only like coffee. Or I like coffee the most. When it has to be some alcoholics out of the fun when meeting friends I always took things with caffeine like that Irish Coffee or a White Russian. Actually this happened only on rare occasions and I was fine with that.

"I feel so stupid.“

I needed to cater some other customers and the noirette groaned. The crowd got bigger when the music stopped since the concert in the other room had a short break. I had to open a lot of beer bottles and to mix up some cocktails before chimes made themselves heard and a voice from the other room called the people back because 'Moop' was up to continue. People got hasty and within only two minutes the counter was empty again except of me and my lonely customer.

The pub supported a lot of local bands and so every Friday there was another small little concert. Once we were left nearly alone I wiped down the counter and the noirette gave in into embarrassing himself the way he had done so often before. He wailed about why it always had to be so difficult. Why it couldn’t just be easy, why had it never been easy and just why wasn’t it any better to be alone? He whined and avoided to look at me.

I kind of wondered why he told me these things anyway. He had friends, a lot of them, I knew about this. And I wouldn’t believe one moment they all stuck to his ex’ story. Why kept he telling those stories towards me, a total stranger? The thought of that soap alike relationship a bartender had with his patrons kept stuck in my mind. Of course I greet and talk to all my regular customers, there were plenty and all of them knew my name. And I was still a total idiot with social interaction but somehow at this place with this people it seemed to be okay. They all stayed really friendly and greeted me and even by my name and always seemed so eagerly to see me and say hi, and ask how I was, as this was the game you gotta play as adults. That one question always followed up by the same answer. Politeness. So I guess I’m not fucking up at doing the minimum of social interaction I gotta do?

At the beginning it was frightening when I had difficulties to remember all those faces. I was startled and my mind was running why a stranger knew my name. But when they started to talk and catch up to the point they stopped the last time I remembered them. I had to remind myself they knew my name because I once told them, or because my workmate had told them, or because they weren’t analphabets and could read that picture at the wall were all employees names were written. And thus I got used to it.

However none of them regularly bared their despair over the course of three month. And I kept wondering what the noirette saw in me. Maybe I was more than the barkeeper he greeted thrice a week, maybe I was something alike a friend? The thought made my heart jump. But the uncertainty of my thoughts being more than presumptions left me with the urge to bite my nails, a bad habit I’d done the last time during my own break up. I reminded myself of the black paint I didn’t want to ruin and that helped me to refrain, even though the black nail polish was already peeling off at the edges and I would have to repaint them soon anyway. Maybe I’d choose the metallic green I hadn’t used in a while.

Then I leaned over the counter and asked though it’s more of a statement, "You still love him?"

"No,” the noirette blurted and swallowed all the alcohol remained in his glass at once. "He’s an asshole. I don’t care about him!”

His name was Craig. I remembered how his ex said it affectionate but somehow distressed. As if he was angry at him about a thing that happened a year ago and they had agreed to forget about except he hadn’t and was still resentful. He ordered their drinks and said one or two insults within and then smiled apologically. Every time they were here he said "asshole" and then "Craig" and placed a kiss at his perfect lips. Actually he wasn’t teasing or an asshole himself. It were his tics, a neurotically disorder demanding his mouth to do stupid things. Like telling lies about this kind and loving person. Like being untrustworthy, hiding things from his partner but then being a big drama queen. Breaking up but tell a story about being the one who was been betrayed. Well, there was no chance at blaming his unforgivable dishonesties at Tourette.

I didn’t like that little skinny kid that much. He sometimes seemed distressed by his disorder in public and every time I saw the effort Craig made to help him feel safe. To create a space for him he could feel comfy and loved. Craig got touchy then and looked at him with so much love streaming out his eyes I felt the whole bar getting warm. Craig whispered things inside his ear that must have flattered him, because his eyes would flicker and sometimes his Tourette got even worse by his failing attempts to stay in control and Craig always grinned then like it was what he wanted to happen. That boy’s cheeks got hot then and so did mine and I wiped the counter extra thorough. When he frowned at him Craig always said it was okay, he didn’t need to feel bad and then he would whisper again, soft, only for his precious ones ears to hear. Yet I was able to read it from his lips, those little three words.

Craig was such a nice guy, he really was a catch. I saw him being flat and dismissive towards people he didn’t know. Nevertheless he was warm-hearted to those who had a place in his heart. And for all I witnessed it was hard to get on his VIP-list, or even get his attention. He could be even cold towards his own friends and in an amusing way it was just part of their relationship.

I bold up my braveness to give him my one and only advice I could offer, “I doubt you mean this. You should talk to him.”

That was reasonable wasn’t it? It was the kind of things I constantly heard from my friends. To bold up and confront things. There’s no use in working myself up and thinking about all the possibilities and what-ifs. There was no use in jumping into conclusions. Instead it was better to face the uncomfortable and make things clear. This was like the only way to know for sure and transform nagging doubts into either real obstacles you could work on or to reveal they have but just been mind-ghosts all along.

„That’s pointless. He accused me on cheating on him!”

“You still love him, dude, go tell him. Explain your situation and all; that you didn’t cheat.”

“He won’t listen, anyway. “

„Communication is like the most important thing in any relationship,“ I told him because it was the only lection I could pull out of my own relationship and I tried to pretend I had already learned it myself. Yet it wasn’t his fault but of his ex that refused to listen and therefor my advice was useless. Even though I was no one to talk as I never actually followed this, my only advice. I learned it intellectually, but it’s not really a task you can apply as easily as how to mix up a fucking Long Island Iced Tea. It’s nothing you learn just in one evening. And on top of that, it’s by no means a repeatable task. You don’t just go to someone and talk to him the same way and about the same things every time you meet. And also you don’t talk the same way and the same topics every person you’ve got a relationship with.

“Yeah, but it’s over and he won’t listen and I just…” he made a noise that was something between a sigh and a groan and hid his face into his crossed arms again.

We paused our dialogue and listened to Moop singing about college love, awkward first kisses he was longing for since eternity but got only at the age of seventeen. And yeah all he wanted was a girlfriend, someone who loves him, but he’s a douchebag and how do you do and how do you feel and how do you tell and how do you survive butterflies in your guts? The bass vibrated melancholically, the drum pounded heavy and the guitar yelled somewhat joyful, the mixed atmosphere wasn’t at all matching the current situation and nonetheless tried to stretch out for the noirette who’d always been good in ignoring inconvenient things happening around him.

I catered some of my customers and then wiped down the counter the millionth time this night. My thought wandered back to the little ash blond and my delight of him not showing up this place anymore, not even alone. Some workmates would describe him as a lovely person but he stepped on Craigs feelings and therefor I didn’t like him. Luckily they weren’t one of those couples who displayed their fights in public. Meaning I only knew Craig’s side of the story. I would be lying if I said I cared for the ash-blondes version of the story.

“I don’t want him back, okay? And we have had all those damn discussions and arguments and I just can’t anymore. It’s useless.”

His gaze was dropped down towards his glass and the rocks of ice were by now only water mixed up to one last drip of his preservative he for real decided would help to wither his feelings faster. His cheek bones were carved out into hollow shadows; exhaustion as well as sadness and confusion were mixed up into his gaze. A human cocktail and I couldn’t decipher the other ingredients but I sure hell knew it wouldn’t taste good.

However since my only advice I had inside my head had been declared my attempts to say anything beyond that were all pitiful. Blank space covered up by my platinum blonde hair and as I tried to think I tug at my tie and released the shoulder long waves before tugging them back into a tail at my neck.

“Maybe it was my fault after all,” I heard him mutter.

“What makes you think that?! I mean you didn’t cheat on him you said.”

“Dunno.” He shrugged.

“He didn’t deserve you, man,” I finally said as I pulled the bangs that didn’t made it into the tail behind my ears. “Don’t think so low of yourself. It’s not your fault, and if he is too dumb to appreciate what he got with you than he didn’t deserve you in the first place. You are such a good guy; trust me, I see a lot of shit happening here. And the way you treated him like he’s a goddess… you practically worshipped him,” and this wasn’t even exaggerated, “compared to the way he treats you now… he didn’t deserve you. You deserve someone better.”

“Yeah. Thanks,” he muttered and swallowed down the remains of his glass even though it was only water, “well that’s what they all say.”

“Well, okay than let us forget about him! He’s neither worth mentioning nor you crying over him, so let’s just forget about him and instead cheer together!” I kind of snapped and spoke up a bit louder and cheerfully as I came to stand straight up and pressed my hands determined against the black table, “I’ll drink with you, what you want?”

“huh?” he lifted his head up and held it in his hand again. His eyes were squinted and he looked in disbelieve towards me. He seemed to be a bit puzzled by the sudden movement and energy. I was a bit surprised myself as this wasn’t my usual way of action and the eyes digging into me made my spine want to jump while I stubbornly stayed in place. I tried my hardest to not give away my struggles to him as not to ruin the impression.

“I’ll drink some with you," I finally repeated, "so what should I make you, Long Island Iced Tea?”

Craig’s eyes opened in surprise as he blatantly asked: “You’re allowed to drink at work?”

In a just as abrupt movement I lean towards him one finger at my pursed lips and hushed him, my eyes darting left and right to check if someone had heard our conversation. Our faces were near each other like they’ve never been but I was too panicky over getting caught to actually notice. My eyes kept flinching around the area, it must look somewhat crazy as if I was intoxicated already and Craig lifted one hand to cup his mouth. His giggle reached my ear as well as a cough from the other direction. I had no time to worry about his laugh. In a big movement I turned over, my eyes wide out of shock and embarrassment and the whole confusion I’ve caused myself just because I decided to ignore my normal script and do something spontaneously and crazy.

It was just one of my other regulars waving a hand at me and laughing over the unused situation. My hand automatically covered up at my chest and with a light pressure at the place I tried to calm my heart. When I came to stand straight again I filled her Bionade into a big glass and gave her a spoon just like she always asked me to do. Then I watched her as she stirred her beverage and a lot of carbonic acid was bubbling up the liquid in a loud whoosh. The spoon clinked against the glass while she conveyed me greetings from her husband who unfortunately had to work the next day and therefore didn’t came with her. My tension was gone and I smiled at her as I passed the greetings back. Well the thought of drinking with my favorite customer stayed inside my head present and satisfyingly inevitable.

There was no actual rule for us employees to never drink and sometimes when the mood was good and the correct combination of employees had the same shift, or when the favorite band of the chief had a performance the whole gang was drinking towards the end of their shift. Sometimes this included even me. So it wasn’t really something forbidden still I was afraid of my manager getting wind of it. It wasn’t a good idea for me to drink too much, as I wasn’t used to alcohol as I normally drank coffee from the employees’ room and today we were understaffed since Pete had to become ill. On top of that there were still a bit more than two hours of our shift remaining. All of those reasons ran through my head when I turned back to Craig with a content smile, willing to ignore all of those facts.

The noirette have had enough time to think through my offer. And as he noticed he had my attention back he answered quickly.

“Sure, at your risk.” He grinned and then added, “Actually I’d like to try something new, surprise me.” His voice sounded a bit slurred, the alcohols must have reached inside his systems already.

I elaborated if I should mix something or just pour out some of the high-proofed. Craig wasn’t really someone for sweet drinks, and I didn’t want to give him something that could remind him of his ex. I thought about the typical party drinks and what most people drank to lift up the mood. Then I came up with my idea and put two shot glasses in front of him and grabbed into the fridge. I put the ingredients at the counter and poured in some translucent liquor into the shots directly before I got the last needed element. Once I’ve lined up all the ingredients Craigs face brightened up with a smile.

“You start,” he said with a nice chuckle. And I felt tightened again but also pretty excited. This was the first time I was drinking with a customer and from all of my regulars it was this lovely dude who had a pretty exclusive VIP-list I somehow managed to sneak on and if it was only for tonight.

I grinned at him as I stopped my poor attempts to hide my excitement. “simultaneously,” I commanded as I licked my heel of hand and poured salt above it. I locked my eyes at him in a demand he should follow my lead. My torso was leaned against the counter and I was near him the way I was when I hushed him. This time I actually recognized it and felt a flush creep up my cheeks as he didn’t move his eyes from mine when he licked his own hand. The gesture sent shivers down my spine and my head spun before I even had one gulp of alcohol. He took the salt shaker out of my hand, slightly brushing my fingertips, and he was clumsier then I knew him when spreading the mineral over his skin.

Our lemon pieces were already in place, I shook my head to both my sides to be sure none of my coworkers saw me, before us both grabbed our shots.

“Cheers!” he grinned and our eyes were locked again while we both licked down the salt off our own hands. And as I watched his hazel eyes, the intensity and the pathetic grin at them I imagined he didn’t saw mine green ones as those of the bartender who coincidentally worked at his favorite bar but someone who was a person to be trusted. Someone who could be considered a friend. And we weren’t at my workplace but at my home and after our next shot, or our shot after that we would do as most party guests who drank Tequila would do. We would be laughing a lot because the more wasted we were the funnier everything was and the mood would be perfect and we would forget the correct order of the ingredients. So we would start to lick each other’s hands off instead of our own. I would lick off the salt from his throat and his shoulders and his hipbones. We would become short of lemons and would have to share the same. I would lick the salt or the alcohol or the lemon off from his lips. I would lick the taste of him off his lips. Then I would shove my hand up his hair and flung his chullo down and my tongue would enter his mouth and I would never let him go again.

My sight of his still red and swollen yet so beautiful eyes got jerked away by him dropping his head back and swallowing his shot. Way too easily my perfect moment of illusion got stolen away and with a fast movement I copied him to swallow down the liquor and with it my hopes and every image of me and him being together. Of my daydream to become true one day.

A second later I bit into the sour of my lemon and while I squeezed together everything that could be called my face I tried to get a glimpse of his just as strained expression. I choked at the burning and the sourness mixing up in my throat and started to cough hitting my chest with one of my hands to help get the scratch out of my throat. He laughed really loud even though I looked at him in pain.

“That’s not funny,” I finally declared out of some coughs and forced breathing, my throat still sore.

“Sorry,” he uttered still grinning and I couldn’t hide my own smile despite I was yet coughing. Nonetheless I made him laugh, after whole three month he finally laughed out of another reason than frustration. That was almost worth nearly getting chocked.

“But you’re so cute,” he giggled out, bit slurry and I froze in place to process with my brain if I had heard correctly just now. But I couldn’t get it back together and I was looking around to see some other customers waiting to place their orders and I felt my cheeks burn and my throat still taut. I stumbled some noises that didn’t really form any words together before a customer interrupted our interaction to finally place the order of three Tequilas. How ironic. Craig’s smile stayed in place while I placed the order at a tray as it had to be done with Tequilla. My figure moved alien and I had to fight a resistance inside my muscles. My body had forgotten how to read the moves which I thought were already scripted into my bones.

Moop’s story had been going on and by now they were singing about finding first jobs and the name you get called when you grow up, that one you used as insult when you were younger. Adult. Cause your body had grown a million years old or at least you feel like a grandpa but your head, your thoughts, your idea of the world are still those of a naive kid and you think you don’t like this particular game of playing pretend you’re caught in now. And you find yourself awake at night wondering at which point your rainbow lost all its colors; why you didn’t notice before. It is all too real and you don’t want tomorrow to come yet you give out fake smiles and get paid with the same lies again and again.

And while I handed out the order and two more beers and cashed up the money my thoughts echoed his words. He had said I was cute. And I felt more flattered by those words than I should feel as Craig was wasted and he probably just wanted to be nice. I had just humiliated myself and he wanted to make me feel better about it. I shouldn’t read too much into it; yet it was hard not to. I yet felt sneaky for slipping onto his VIP-list and any nice word from his mouth weighted heavy in my chest.

I turned around to him with a new subject in mind to change the topic and decrease my blood pressure.

“What do you think about the Band Moop?”

“Some crazy assbuttshit,” Craig answered uninterested and his eyes dug into me.

I felt the urge to bite my nails once again and wondered why it was so easy for him to make me feel so uneasy. Out of habit and because I cleared away our glasses I wiped the counter clean. As I did I saw my own reflection there, some of my hair flung away from behind my ear and framed my face and even though Butters always said it looked good this way I had to tug it back into place.  

"You’ve got a partner?" He suddenly asked me and I jumped in surprise, a habit I thought I lost years ago.

It was the first time he ever asked me something besides: how much? Is this drink with rum? Could you add more coke? And it got me startled in a way foreign even to me. My head spun again and I wondered if alcohol could kick in so early for real. It wasn’t the first time a customer asked me something about my love-life or similarly personal and I knew this was considered Smalltalk. However it was Craig who asked me, the guy who wasn’t interested in other people. The guy who didn’t do Smalltalk.

Yet he had his heart broken only three month back, there was no way he meant it in a flirtatious way. He must mean to do Smalltalk this time. Maybe because I was in front of him presenting myself as a friend. I wetted my lips nervously and a brief moment I hoped my reasonable thoughts were truthless.

"...no," I finally said and was grateful my voice didn’t sound as shaky as my hands felt.

“You don’t? That’s a pity.” And after a while he added, “You’re handsome, though. I’m pretty sure within your customers are a lot who have a crush on you.”

“Huh? Jesus, no!”

This got me by surprise. I locked my eyes at the dark desk and watched myself wipe down the already clean counter. How come we suddenly talked about me? How come he was suddenly complimenting me? That wasn’t written within the bartender soap opera script. However I already had broken that script, apparently now was his turn to do just that. And suddenly I thought about how I could ever survive those butterflies inside my guts. Neither the band nor I had a solution.

“Did no one ever, like, dunno tried something?”

“'Well… yeah, once or twice.” I then actually remembered and he was right, some of my customers were trying to flirt with me and left their numbers for me to reach out for them even though I’ve never been interested.

“And?”

“Well, it’s been always girls, but I’m hella gay,” I confessed.

It came out my lips pretty naturally, surprising myself. Nonetheless my hands got clam and I wiped down the counter again as to wipe down my tingly feeling of vulnerability. Craig was gay himself, there was absolutely no reason for me to fear my confession. Still my stomach twisted. Laying bar something of myself and letting it be judged by another person, especially a person I wanted to be liked by, it was the worst form of social interaction.

Craig burst into laughter and I was confused of what exactly had amused him that much. Was it that I said it even through it was so obvious? Was it because he really didn’t know about it and at the realization he laughed at himself for not noticing before? It hit me hard, maybe he was laughing because he had noticed the way I looked at him and maybe he was even able to tell the confession was bigger than intended and he was laughing at my feelings for him and would dump me any moment.

"You are?"

"Yes. I always thought my appearance gave it away," I answered because I was so utterly confused and I wanted clarification of what made him laugh. My hands trembled a bit and I clenched the towel to not bite my nails.

"I would never judge something like that by appearance alone. I mean you think I look gay?"

"No, but you never made a secret out of it anyway."

"Yeah, kind of right."

"You’re looking at every man’s ass." And I grinned as I said it, ‘cause I memorized Craig’s face then displayed his evaluation of that particular ass he was looking at and he was fucking hot when his features displayed a pleased approval.

"No."

"Yes, you do."

"Only at those who’re good looking,“ he slurred and then added “I‘ve never had a chance to look at yours…"

I couldn’t quiet grasp it, yet I thought I heard a bit of disappointment inside his voice.

"That’s because I stand behind the counter."

That was actually kind of smug; that’s like the closest to flirting I could ever come to, what a good thing I chose this night to surprise myself. Craig’s grin slid and a moment something equally to disappointment flickered over his features and out of a strange fling of confidence I said even more.

"You wouldn’t be disappointed though."

Craig grinned, held his hand up and pointed his finger at me like it’s a gun barrel as he opens his mouth as if to laugh. It’s a gesture to tell me I was right.

„Don’t you need to go to the restroom? So I can get a good view at you?“

I chuckled but didn’t say anything. Some more customers interrupted us and gave my hands something else to do than to find their way between my teeth. When I turned back I found Craig back to his thoughts.

“Does this mean it had been my fault?” he asked.

“What?”

“Does looking at other men’s ass count as cheating?”

“God, no! That would be horrible!” I furrowed my eyebrows, what would be wrong about some eye candy?

“Well, maybe he thought I didn’t really like him when I was looking at someone else.”

“Stop! You said you don’t want him back, so it doesn’t matter anymore. And with your next partner you just talk about that habit of yours and then you can look at other people’s asses together.”

Craig groaned and hid his face with his hand.

“Hey, I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re right.”

He ragged his hand over his face and then looked at me, grinning.

“Could I get a view of you, like now? Like, If not leaving for the restroom, could you turn around than?” he stood up and propped himself with one knee at his chair, leaning over the counter. I hesitated but he swirled his finger in a demanding gesture and so I turned my back at him. When turning around I thought there was not much left for me to loose so I pushed out my hip presenting him my butt that was covered by tight black jeans.

“Nice,” he approved and my cheeks burned. He was fucking flirting. Then again he did look at every men’s ass, so this didn’t count? Did it?

“How pitiful all those guys in this damn bar are fucking straight or so fucking closeted.”

“Except of you?”

I turned around and faced him again.

“Yeah! I mean, Really? No man ever gave you his number?”

He lingered shortly but then leaned back and came to sit at his bar stool like he did before.

“Well, not while I was working here.”

“So it did happen?”

“Of course,” I said my cheeks still hot and I wished so damn Craig would give me his number. Look at my ass once more and have this pleased look at his face. So we could leave and do that licking salt off of each other thing.

“Good, good. Yet a pity, why is everyone here so closeted? Even you.”

“Hey!” I stretched that word, displaying my feel of offense. Did I really seem like one of those closeted gays that were too tight up their ass to be content with whom they were? Was that how I appeared to others?

“Actually I might even be gayer than you are,” I said teasingly, my eyes furrowed. It wasn’t easy to be gayer than Craig. No, he wasn’t waving the damn rainbow flag or wearing them at his body. But Craig and his ex have had those thirty minute stays at the restrooms more often than twice and he was looking at guys, all the fucking time, and it was driving his ex insane, while I followed his eyes, appreciated that ass and then the look Craig was giving them.

Craig laughed dryly and I wasn’t sure anymore why I had to make a competition out of it.

“Prove!”

“Huh? How?”

“mh ... How about … you kiss me?”

That didn’t make so much sense as how would this prove anything. Craig must be pretty wasted to not see that flaw within his logic.

“You’re drunk.”

“Hell, yes. That a problem?”

“You already that desperate?”

“I’m not desperate! I’m drunk! And you’re cute!”

I made a face at this. Cheeks yet hot and I hated them and this situation. Craig was fucking drunk, that bastard. He had his break up only three month ago and was whining about it at every opportunity. I had no need to be his substitute. I was not that desperate.

“You are cute! And I like your ass.”

“Well, yeah, becoming greedy, huh? But it wouldn’t mean anything.”

“So?”

“I wouldn’t like that. You’re not over your ex yet. It’s no good idea to kiss your barkeeper now.”

Craig looked at the counter and I wondered what he saw in his reflection, or in my.

“Oh hell this is so girlish, you’ve proven to be gayer than me.”

And with this I had missed my chance. I sighed. Sometimes I really disliked what alcohol could do to people. They say a drunken person doesn’t lie, but then again drunken people do a lot of really stupid stuff. Even though I had a crush on him and his lips were perfect I wouldn’t want anything between us to happen only because of his desperation and the involvement of too much alcohol.

Yet somehow, and I don’t really understood were it came from I had an idea. Something I would never do though, just like the idea of taking off his chullo and petting his hair. I could ask him on a date. I could just now do it, it would be so easy, and if I was to embarrass myself, I would give Craig another cocktail and he was to forget about the whole conversation. Hopefully.

As mentioned and as with my other fantasies I wouldn’t do though. I bit my lip down. It would be the same though; a date so soon after his break up would make me his compensation of his prior boyfriend. He would let me down as fast as we’d begun.

“That’s actually kind of cute you now. I’m pretty sure the guy you’ll catch with that tactic will be a good catch.”

Oh god Craig, you fucking asshole, why were you so damn right? You were a good catch, you were perfect. But my so called tactic seemed not to wound up with him. And then there came some more customers I had to deal with. I just hoped Craig would still be sitting at his place once I was finished catering. I really, really wanted to talk more with him, utilize this one night I managed to be part of his VIP-list. Yet my chest felt so tight and there was a lump inside my throat and I was so fucking tired and just. I would like a coffee and that kiss he had offered. Just why was I so stupid and didn’t allow it?

Craig cleared his throat and I looked at him. His palm tapped the counter one, two times. He was about to leave.

“Thanks a lot dude, tonight was fun”

“Well, yeah, you leaving?”

“Yeah, It’s late.”

“uh Craig…”

Come on, just right now, ask him on a date. Ask him on his number. Ask him for that kiss he had offered. Ask him to come home with you and lick salt off every spot of your body.

“Good night.”

„Thanks.“

And with that he left and my heart throbbed with those little words I locked away inside it.

I watched him take those steps to the exit were all the jackets hanged. He didn’t take his jacket of the hook but fumbled at its pocket. Then he suddenly turned around and came back to me. One hand tucked shortly at his chullo.

He came to stand at my counter and our eyes met, mine probably wide with confusion. He took a napkin and started to write something. 

“Here.”

Holy mother of god. It was a phone number. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

“Now you got the number of a guy. Be sure to look at my ass while I leave, okay?”

He took some steps backward and I saw his mouth form ‘call me’ while his left eyebrow quirked up.

I stared at those numbers, disbelieving and too baffled to reply anything. When he turned around I had to tear my stare off the note so I could do as he had said; make sure to capture the curves of his cute little butt when he leaves.


End file.
